Tell Me A Lie
by De Fideli
Summary: "I'm sorry, did you think you knew anything about me?" In which Santana Lopez and Sebastian Smythe get to know each other in unfortunate circumstances. Sebtana.
1. Chapter 1

"They all hate you, you know," the Latina said to the tall, slender, uniform-clad boy who was walking ahead of her, as he headed in the direction of the parking lot after the performance of Black and White and their confrontation.

He came to a halt and turned around to face the smirking girl. "Excuse me?"

"The Warblers. Your so-called team. To them, you're nowhere near the leader that Blaine was, I can tell," Santana Lopez stated, matter-of-factly.

The signature Sebastian Smythe smirk appeared, and he ran his tongue behind his lips, letting out a soft chuckle. He glanced quickly at his shoes before focusing back on her with his piercing green eyes. "I'm sorry, did you think you knew anything about me?"

Santana, herself, let out her own condescending laugh as if to counter his. "I know everything I need to know about you, Smythe. Your daddy dearest buys you the world, including your friends. You think you have everyone wrapped around your finger, when really, nobody would come to your funeral," she spat her words at him. His gaze at her never broke, but there was a change in emotion-one Santana couldn't quite interpret.

"Yes, I'm sure your assumptions are accurate, Lopez," his words dripped with sarcasm. "I'm the stereotypical wealthy private school student who doesn't give much of a damn about anyone. How long did it take you to figure that one out?"

Before she could reply, he turned around and kept on walking, hands inserted into the pockets of his perfectly pressed slacks.

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><p>"Yes, daddy, I'm on my way," Santana grumbled into her cellphone before hanging up. Dr. Lopez had urged his daughter to participate in community service, in order to hold up the image of the family. <em>Hispanics are already looked down upon, hija, we have a chance to be more than our race<em>, she remembered him saying once. Of course, due to the fact that Ramon Lopez was a general practitioner, it was only fitting that Santana would be volunteering at the hospital.

Leaving the provocative candystriper costume at home for Halloween usage, Santana had come dressed in her Cheerio uniform, straight from practice. She was tired and miserable, and community service had been the last thing on her mind. Another evening of delivering gift baskets to rooms was far from ideal.

She followed her usual routine, checking into the gift shop before taking off with a cart full of obnoxious balloons, candy baskets and other types of things to clutter hospital beds with. She never understood the practice-why would someone who was sick want a damn balloon? Never having stayed overnight at the hospital, she failed to grasp the sentimentality of the gesture and settled in simply accepting it. The hours went on as the cart's contents dwindled down to its last packages, until finally there was only one left. The number of the room, 249, was in the East Wing-an area specifically for those undergoing intensive treatment. Usually, chemotherapy patients were placed there to prepare or recover, and even the coldhearted Santana felt her eyes well up whenever she passed by the place.

Stopping her cart in front of the room, she approached the already open door, peering inside from a few meters away. Her eyes widened, shocked at the sight in front of her. Sebastian Smythe sat beside an elderly woman on the bed, both sharing smiles as they looked to be in a pleasant conversation. Santana froze in place, to the point where she could see what was going on in the room but not vice versa, and listened in on the faint sounds of their conversation.

"Sebastian, mon cheri, what is zis formal ball your mother says you refuse to attend?" the woman asked, struggling with the pronunciation of her english. Santana assumed the woman was french, judging from the thick accent, and listened on.

"It's nothing, grandmere, Dalton always has these events, c'est rien to miss one," Sebastian replied, effortlessly switching between his own french and english words. "Besides, it's the same day as your birthday, and you know there's no way I'd miss that." Upon hearing that sentence, Santana raised an eyebrow, unable to believe the Sebastian she was witnessing. She formulated the theory that the "grandmere" in this situation must have a lot of money that Sebastian was interested in, there was no way he was sitting there talking to his own grandmother out of the pure goodness of his heart. She knew Sebastian.

As the old woman laughed and waved Sebastian's comment off, Santana figured it would be wise to complete her job, as she took a deep breath and knocked on the door lightly, package of gifts in one hand. The two in the room looked up, Sebastian's own eyes widening before his mouth turned into its smug grin. "Lopez," he acknowledged her. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Smythe," she replied, shooting him a dirty look before turning to his grandmother and putting on her sweetest smile. "These are for you." She placed the basket on the bedside table, and the old woman smiled back-hers, of course, was genuine.

"Do you know each other?" the woman asked curiously. Santana opened her mouth to answer, but Sebastian was already ahead of her.

"Grandmere, this is Santana Lopez," he explained slowly to his grandmother. "She's in that other glee club I was telling you about earlier. Santana, this is my grandmother, Lucille."

At the recalling of the conversation, Lucille's eyes lit up as she smiled even more. "You are Dr. Lopez's daughter, am I correct?" she asked, and Santana nodded. "He's a very sweet man, and I bet it must run in the family." After hearing the statement, Santana looked at Sebastian, who was trying to stifle a snicker. Shooting yet another dirty look at him, her eyes filled with anger over the presence of the boy.

"Well, I should be going, grandmere," Sebastian announced to Lucille as he stood up, then proceeded to kiss her on the cheek and give the frail woman a hug.

"You take care, mon petit prince," Lucille said as she embraced him, keeping the smile that she had formed awhile back. He nodded, and walked out of the room. Awkwardly, Santana decided that she, too, should make her own exit, shortly waving goodbye at the woman before exiting the room herself.

Upon her first few steps of the hallway, she caught up with Sebastian, not letting this event go unexplained. "Smythe. So tell me. What does your adorable grandmother have that you want?" she asked the Warbler. Mirroring their first encounter, Sebastian turned around to face her.

"You tell me, Lopez, since you know me so well," he replied curtly, smirking before turning around once again and walking away, leaving Santana Lopez, for once in her life, speechless.


	2. Chapter 2

If anything, Santana Lopez was just confused. She had never been wrong about anybody. Years of correct judgment had proved it-Finn's gassy infant look, Mr. Schuster's pseudo-affection for teaching Spanish-she could read anyone like a book.

So how was she doubting her own opinion about the guaranteed asshole, Sebastian Smythe? As she sat at the lunch table, pushing around the tater tots Mercedes was eyeing at like a vulture, her mouth formed a slight frown while she gazed off into a distance. Only Brittany's voice brought her back. "Hey San, do you want to go with me to get Lord Tubbington a birthday present?" the blonde cheerily asked, and Santana smiled weakly.

Before she knew it, she was making excuses to reject her girlfriend. "Umm... my dad wants me at the hospital again, more volunteer work for missing curfew," she lied with ease. "Sorry, Britt."

Of course, it wasn't entirely a lie. She was intending on going to the hospital, just not at the request of her own father. Ramon Lopez knew that once a week at the hospital was all he could wring out of his often busy daughter.

"Oh, that's okay!" Brittany replied, her blissful tone still present.

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><p>Santana had no idea what she was doing, and undoubtedly felt uneasy about her small lie, but she stopped at nothing. She was bound to figure out Sebastian Smythe and get into the alpha Warbler's head.<p>

Poised and confident, Santana walked through the halls of St. Luke's once again in her cheerio uniform. Despite the quizzical looks received from some nurses, she was determined to act as natural as she could. It wasn't that much of a surprise that she was there, was it? She nonchalantly passed by the East Wing, and sneaked a glance at Lucille's room. Upon seeing an empty bed, she frowned, and looked around for people watching before snatching the clipboard from the doorside container.

She scanned the details on the sheet of paper, reading the basics of the files-after all, that was all she could understand before the doctor jargon went over her head. Her name was Lucille Deschamps, 73 years old, and from what Santana deduced, she had some kind of illness that had her hospital bound for the last week. Other than that, the clipboard was rendered useless as Santana dejectedly walked back to the foyer of the hospital.

She passed by the cafeteria, and spotted the old woman from the corner of her eye, and mentally wrestled with herself on what to do. Should she come up to the woman? Preying on her to get information seemed low, even for Santana, she argued. The other part of her was purely driven by curiosity, and that part overpowered any type of conscience that Santana feigned having.

Putting on her sweet smile, Santana walked towards the woman. "Hi, Lucille," she greeted the woman with enthusiasm, as Lucille looked up and returned the smile. "Is this seat saved?"

"Non, ma cherie," the woman replied graciously. She possessed the same class and sophistication that Sebastian carried, Santana noted. It was as if she had an affluent status in society, as glamorous of an old woman as they came. "Are you helping out again? How very sweet of you."

"Yes, I am," Santana lied. _No, I'm actually here to interrogate you, I don't really give a shit about people in hospitals_, she mentally refrained herself from saying. "Is Sebastian visiting you today?"

"Oh no, not this afternoon," Lucille said. "He had a lacrosse game today and I can't ask the boy to come after he's too exhausted. He's very busy, you know." Santana couldn't believe that anyone could ever talk of the malicious Sebastian Smythe as if he were an angel, but Lucille was doing it. It was as if they were thinking of two different people.

She was, however, relieved that Sebastian wasn't coming, and could further learn more of the double life he seemed to be leading. Falling into a contemplative silence, her thoughts were interrupted by Lucille.

"You two do not get along normally, am I right?" Lucille inquired sincerely. Santana opened her mouth to respond, but couldn't think of an answer. Of course, she didn't want to tell the sweet old lady that her dearest grandson was a total, pompous douchebag. But of course, she didn't have to, because Lucille continued. "It's obvious. I know Sebastian may seem very... guarded at times, but there's a reason for everything."

The cryptic answer confused Santana, but her thoughts were again quickly interrupted, though this time by an unexpected voice.

"Lopez?" the ever familiar voice of Sebastian came from behind her, and her heart froze for a few seconds. Slowly, she turned around and standing before her was the confident Warbler, though right then with a raised eyebrow conveying his own confusion. His usually perfectly sculpted hair was down and damp, and he had on a plain white t-shirt and a pair of jeans. His casual appearance was a drastic change from his typical formal attire, and Santana had to admit that either way, he was extremely attractive.

"Good evening, Smythe," Santana managed to say coolly, after picking herself back up.

"Sebastian, mon cheri, what are you doing here?" Lucille asked, looking up at him with her bright eyes. "How was the game?"

"It was great, maman, we won," Sebastian grinned at his grandmother, and the sight of a genuine smile from the man still left Santana shocked. The smile differed greatly from his usual smirk, the emotion illuminating his eyes. It almost, almost made Santana too want to smile. "My hip still hurts, but I scored all five goals." And that boast was how she knew this was the same Sebastian that she knew.

"I'm so proud of you, Bastian, et ta mere serait trop," Lucille finished in her native language. Santana hated the frequent changes in language and though she could catch it most of the time, there were moments where not enough cognates were used for her to translate. Like then. "Well, I better be getting back to my room. I will see you two later."

"Mais maman, are you sure you don't want me to walk you back there?" Sebastian asked, and Lucille shook her head.

"Ce n'est pas necessaire, Bastian," she waved him off, before slowly making her way to the East Wing.

Once she was beyond earshot, Sebastian turned his full attention to Santana, who too returned his glare. "Alright, Satan, what are you doing here. Preying on my poor grandmother? I wasn't aware that's how low you went," Sebastian said, staring her down.

She crossed her arms and kept her head raised high, eye contact engaged fully with Sebastian despite his height. "Oh please. I'm here for volunteering. But I bet you're pissed, coming all the way here for a five minute conversation," she spat back at him. "Tell me, why is it that you come here so often? Trying to get your name all over your grandmother's living will?" There were hardly ever times when Santana immediately felt guilty for saying something, and this occassion was one of those rare times. Sebastian looked down at his feet, looking as if he had just been kicked in the stomach, before collecting himself and looking back up at her.

"You know nothing, Lopez, so stay away from my grandmother," he told her in the most venomous tone. Quickly, he turned around and Santana didn't know why, but her feet were following suit behind him

He was already out of the main entrance when Santana blurted out, "I'm sorry!"

He turned around, as if back in character with one corner of his lips turning into a half-smirk. "Is Santana Lopez swallowing her pride? I must've struck some sort of chord in you," he commented smugly.

Her blood boiled with anger. "Sebastian Smythe, was that supposed to be one cruel joke?" she yelled angrily, restraining herself from jumping on him and burying her fists in the man. Her knuckles were turning white, proof that she was seriously contemplating it. "You used your grandmother to make me grovel? To make me think you're not some sort of douchebag? What kind of sick person are you?"

"I was being serious about my grandmother," Sebastian said seriously, but shrugged to shift his tone. "But with the douchebag thing, you're spot on. Congratulations, Lopez."

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Agree with me on my opinions about you. Apparently I'm not right, but you refuse to tell me I'm wrong. Which one is it?"

"You're correct. I'm an asshole."

"And it doesn't offend you, but me talking to your grandmother does?" She raised an eyebrow, arms still crossed as if waiting patiently for a sufficient answer.

"Listen, Lopez, I'm not some sort of archetype you can categorize. I may just be the most multi-faceted douchebag you'll come across, and it's not surprising judging from the alarming amount of stereotypes in your circle of friends. However, it's not surprising that you're intrigued by me. You're drawn in by my unnatural attractiveness and my overwhelming confidence," he replied with ease.

"You're mistaken, Smythe. I'm not into you. Or any guy for that matter, in case you haven't heard. And from what I've deduced, you're just about as gay as they come."

"And we know how accurate your assumptions are," Sebastian smirked, and winked at her before turning around once again and walking away from her and towards his shiny black Porsche.

That had to stop happening.

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><p><strong>Thank you all for the reviews, and keep 'em coming! <strong>

**There's so much more in store for these two, I promise. Also, sorry if my french is a little rusty.**

**But keep reading, y'all!**


	3. Chapter 3

Pulling up to the gated Smythe estate, Sebastian let out a sigh of exhaustion. From a former injury, his right hip was in pain with every step that he took, and the toll that the match took on him was no help either. After taking the keys out of the ignition, he picked up his duffle bag from the passenger seat and slowly made his way towards the front door.

The Smythe mansion was a beautiful six-bedroom brick establishment, perfectly sculpted bushes and lush green lawns surrounding it on all four sides. The driveway ended with a roundabout in front of the door, and in the middle, a fountain with a sculpture centerpiece shot water out into its basin.

Despite the striking beauty of the home, Sebastian knew that nothing about the interior was beautiful. The furniture and the interior design was flawless, yes, but the home possessed no positive emotion. Seeing the lights on in his father's office, he muttered "Dammit," and braced himself.

Entering the room, he was greeted by the maid. "Good evening, Mr. Smythe," she said politely.

"Good evening to you too, Esme," Sebastian replied. "Hey, could you do me a favor and not tell dad I'm home?" At the request, Esme motioned behind him, and Sebastian sighed, turning around. He came face to face with Sterling Smythe, who was standing authoritatively behind him, still in his work attire.

"It's ten o'clock, Sebastian. Where have you been?" he demanded. His stature, like Sebastian's was tall. Looking to be around fifty years old, his own brown hair was slicked back and his eyes, icy blue unlike Sebastians, gazed condescendingly at his own son. The maid, Esme, had fled the room in intimidation and the tension was thick between the two in the large, marble foyer.

"At the hospital, father," Sebastian retorted. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have school work to get to for the weekend." Turning around and making his way to the grand staircase, he was stopped by his father's booming voice.

"You're wasting your time seeing her, Sebastian. There are a lot more productive things you could be doing considering how ridiculously underachieving you're being," Sterling spat.

He turned back around to face his father, both his jaw and his fists clenched. "I could see her everyday if you hadn't exiled her to the damn hospital."

"Because having her die here is much better than at a hospital," his father answered sarcastically. "I'm only trying to make her parting painless for you, Sebastian, so your grief will be minimal."

"You heartless son of a bitch!" Sebastian yelled. "You did the exact same thing with mom, leaving her to die in the hospital while you buried yourself in your work and your fucking secretary, dammit! And now, I'm about to lose the last in mom's family and you want my grief to be minimal? Fuck you, dad."

Angrily, his father lunged towards him ready to pummel him with ready fists, but Sebatian beat the fifty year old to it and threw his own punch right at the senior Smythe's visage. Sterling, shocked at his son's behavior, stood up to collect himself. "Get out of my house. Now."

"Gladly," the younger Smythe spat, and stormed out of the mansion.

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><p>Sebastian drove for nearly half an hour out of town, northwest to be exact, and pulled up to St. Paul's cemetery. He got out of the car and walked to relatively large tombstone, with the words "Estelle Deschamps Smythe, 1963-2009" embossed on it. Under it, an inscription read. "Beloved daughter, mother and wife." He sat on the lawn in front of the grave, and stared at the tomb.<p>

"Salut, mama," he said softly. "I'm sorry I didn't get you flowers this time. Grandma's doing alright, but they say they're going to take her soon." His eyes were welling up, but he held them in. "I don't understand how you stood by my father this whole time, mama, he's despicable. But... I guess you were always right about everyone." He sighed, and sniffed his nose. "I know you wanted me to enjoy Dalton, just like father did, but I can't. Not with everything that's happened."

After sitting in silence for a few minutes, he got up and, before heading to his car, said his goodbyes. "Tu me manques, mama, je t'aime. Adieu."

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><p><strong>Yes, I know this is short, and no Sebtana is truly here but I felt the need to explore Sebastian's character and family life first, to clarify what Lucille meant by "there's a reason for everything."<strong>

**But do keep reading, I love all of your feedback, thank you so much for the support. There's a lot in store for Sebastian and Santana, trust me.**

**3 De Fideli**


	4. Chapter 4

Driving through the streets of Westerville, Sebastian made his way back to his second home: Dalton Academy. Despite his feelings of isolation everywhere he went, Sebastian couldn't find a better place suited for his own misery. Though the Smythe mansion was a mere 5 minute drive from the institution, he had made his desire of a dormitory clear to his father upon enrollment. And of course, his desire was fulfilled. Thanks to a hefty donation under the Smythe name to the Academy, Sebastian had been granted his own room-a privilege shared by no other student.

He had intended on staying in his room the whole night, but his plans unintentionally changed upon stepping into the mahogany halls of the dormitory. Music was booming from one of the gathering rooms, and Sebastian chalked it up to another party thrown by one of the boys with the neighboring girls' preparatory school. His suspicions were raised, though, when he heard a variety of familiar voices singing along to a Rihanna song. Sebastian hesitantly walked over to the room and peeked in, only to be acknowledged obnoxiously by one of his fellow Warblers.

"What's up, Captain Seb?" Thad greeted him, slurring. Red cups were being passed aroundi and held by just about everyone in the room, which included an interesting group: the New Directions. "We're just doing a little bonding, never hurt anyone, right?"

Sebastian rolled his eyes at the concept. The McKinley kids were tainting the hallowed halls of Dalton Academy, and his elitist tendencies were getting the best of him. The fact that they were competition didn't help either.

"Come on, Seb! Loosen up, alpha dog, drink with us," another Warbler, Garrett, invited him. He handed the lead Warbler a cup and though Sebastian hated the thought of partying with the enemy, he couldn't deny that a drink was exactly what he needed. Scanning the crowd, he found that the Warblers and the New Directioners had basically integrated. Kurt and the now one-eyed Blaine were chatting with their old Warbler friends. The Asian guy, Mike he believed his name was, was having a dance-off with the best Warbler dancer, Drew, and there were spectators on both sides. Finally, his eye caught the familiar Latina, who returned his eye contact. His gaze lingered at her for a few seconds as she nodded at him, and then took another sip of her own drink before turning her attention to her girlfriend. He, too, looked away and proceeded to take his first sip, recognizing the taste to be Miller. Never having been much of a fan of beer itself, he took a few more gulps of the drink before setting it down on a table and leaving the room. Judging by how drunk his Warblers had seemed, he knew his absence wouldn't be detected.

He went up the staircase and down the hall, to the door leading to his room. He turned on a lamp upon entering, and made a beeline towards his own liquor cabinet. Pulling out a bottle of Grey Goose and a glass of vodka, he plopped down on the piano bench next to the cabinet and made himself comfortable, taking in the beverage slowly.

A few drinks and a slight buzz later, he found himself toying with the keys of his baby grand piano, only to progress into his favorite piece as his long fingers glided swiftly across the keys. His playing was interrupted by the now too-familiar voice of Santana from behind. "You know, when I pictured these Warbler parties, I figured you'd be the one doing the keg stand, Mr. Alpha Warbler."

He turned around to face her, his face expressionless as he shrugged. "Figuring out arrangements for regionals. All work and no play if you want to win."

"Okay, twink, I know for a fact that your Warblers aren't going to do Canon in D by Pachelbel for regionals. And if you are, you're more white bread than I thought, Smythe."

His lips formed a half-grin at her recognition over the piece, though his eyes still possessed the same devious light. "I'm impressed, Lopez. Didn't know they played classical over in Lima Heights Adjacent."

"Mom's a piano teacher," she shrugged nonchalantly. "So tell me, Captain Seb, why are you drinking alone?" She motioned at the bottle and glass on the table beside the piano.

"Not a people person," he replied curtly, and countered with a question of his own. "Shouldn't you be joining your team in the spirit of drunken camaraderie?"

"I would, but they've all pretty much passed out for the most part. Though I must admit, the alcohol tolerance level in this place is pretty weak with you Warblers," she said, holding up her empty cup.

Nodding at an empty glass on the table, his offer was as much of an invitation as she was going to get. "Help yourself."

She took a seat on a large, expensive-looking armchair. "So David tells me you went home for the weekend. What's the matter, mom and dad didn't take the weekend off for you?" she prodded her questions at him, hoping to evoke some type of emotion as she poured herself a drink.

"I thought you'd learned your lesson about bringing up my family," Sebastian commented wryly, then took another drink.

"I never learn my lessons, Smythe," Santana smirked. "You're not the enigma you think you are."

He returned the smirk. "How about we play a game. You tell me something you think you know about me. If you're right, I'll take a shot. If you're not, you do. Until you're incoherent."

"Fine with me," Santana agreed, with a proud nod. "Just so you know, I never lose at any game I choose to play."

"Neither do I," he shot back. "Fire away."

"You're an only child." Sebastian 0, Santana 1. He gulped down a shot.

"You want to be some sort of slimy lawyer, like your father."

Sebastian chuckled. "Not at all. Architect," he corrected her. Santana rolled her eyes and took her own shot.

"You only found yourself being gay in Dalton."

"Never said I was gay, Lopez," he said, chuckling once again, looking down on his drink.

"Okay, hold up," Santana said, putting her drink down and pointing a finger up. "You've been trying to get in Blaine's pants since day one, you dress way too nicely to be a straight man and you're telling me you're not gay? I'm calling bullshit, Smythe."

"Messing with Kurt and Blaine's just fun, gives me another challenge," Sebastian shrugged. "All good things must come to an end, I might as well help in theirs. And I don't think I'm the first non homosexual guy to dress nicely, it helps when you're rich."

Once again, Santana rolled her eyes. "I think you have Sam beat for the gayest straight guy I know, then."

"Never said I was straight either," Sebastian countered back at a rapid-fire speed. At Santana raising her perfectly sculpted eyebrow, he explained, "I don't discriminate, as long as they're attractive."

"Pig," Santana shook her head and took another shot.

"Like you're not playing on both teams," Sebastian answered back.

"Excuse me?" she snapped. "Unlike your undecided ass, I happen to be in a very stable, exclusive relationship." He let out another snicker, which caused the fiery girl to shoot her most intimidating glare at him. "What is so damn funny, twink? I swear, state's attorney father or not, I will beat your face in."

"So much confidence in your own people reading skills, when you're an open book," he smirked at her.

"Oh really?" she asked, feigning interest in his opinion. "Fine. Your turn then, same game."

"You've been with more guys than you remember," Sebastian started, and just before she was about to take her first drink, he continued. "Yet you've only been with one girl, and despite that, you're considering yourself a hundred percent lesbian." With a slightly irritated look on her face, she took the shot. But as if Sebastian hadn't finished taking his own jabs at her, he kept on talking. "And you think that it's finally love, because you're starting to feel like somebody's finally willing to look over your flaws, but really, it's only because that's just how she is. Naive and optimistic, and though it's not real, she makes you feel like a good person."

"Fuck you, Sebastian," she spat, before slamming her shot glass on the table.

"Gladly," he snarkily replied, and she rolled her eyes before getting up to stumble to the living room. Sebastian laughed softly to himself as he watched her leave, then proceeded to shed his t-shirt and jeans, ending up only in a pair of boxers. After putting the liquor back in the cabinet, he shut off the lights and tucked himself under the covers, staring at the ceiling.

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><p>Santana made her way downstairs, stumbled almost, to find the rest of the Warblers and her own Glee club asleep in the hall. Though she was fairly sure that the Warblers had comfortable beds to get into, a few of them had crashed on the couches, still intermingled with the McKinley students. Her eyes fell upon her own girlfriend, asleep with Sam's arm wrapped around her. While she felt a tinge of jealousy, she knew that the blonde meant no harm-she was innocent, never seeing the bad in anyone, including Santana.<p>

Her mind immediately went to Sebastian's words, realizing the undeniable truth behind his vitriolic tone. She hated to admit it, but the man had his way of knowing exactly how she felt. On top of that, she realized that all of the couches had been occupied, no thanks to the lack of space efficiency of the sprawled out drunks. Having no choice, she made her way back up to the Warbler captain's room.

She knocked lightly on the door, cracking it open to shed a sliver of light on the already pitch-black room. Watching Sebastian's head turn to the direction of the door, she swallowed her pride and grumbled, "All of the couches are taken." Though she intended on settling for the large armchair, Sebastian had automatically rolled over to one side of his king-sized mattress, leaving space for her. And though she still felt anger for his cocky demeanor, she couldn't deny that the bed looked much more comfortable than the chair, and took off her shoes and crawled her way in.

They faced opposite directions, both wide awake, knowing that the other was awake, and thoughts racing through their minds.

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><p><strong>Lengthy dialogue chapter, but we all need a little Sebtana conversation (: More is to come of the two in the progression of the night and morning.<strong>

**Keep the reviews coming, you are all inspiring me.**

**With love, De Fideli.**


	5. Chapter 5

Around half an hour had passed, and moonlight crept into the orderly room of Sebastian Smythe. He found himself getting drowsy, his eyelids weighing heavier as the minutes went by. The day had been long, and the alcohol aided in his tiredness, as he flashed back to the prior events. The thrill of scoring all the goals in the playoff game, the pride in his grandmother's eyes, his father's scathing tone and now strangely laying in bed with a sworn enemy-all in a day's work, he presumed, as he shut his eyes in an effort to finally fall into slumber.

His attempts were foiled at the sound of Santana's voice, as she shifted her body to directly face the ceiling. "Hey twink?"

His eyes fluttered open, as he too adjusted himself, only turning his head in her direction. "Yes, Satan?" he mumbled.

"After your grandmother told you she was proud of you, what else did she say?" she asked out of curiosity.

He furrowed his eyebrows at the peculiarity of the question, but nevertheless thought back to the question. "Ta mere serait trop," he quoted, the French rolling perfectly off of his tongue. She couldn't help but be impressed by his apparent fluency.

"English?" she pressed on, turning to him.

"Your mother would be too," he replied softly, returning her gaze with his own piercing eye contact.

"Oh," she replied, then fell into a short silence. "Is she... gone?"

He nodded weakly. "Car crash when I was fourteen."

For once, even if only for a moment, Santana could see the humanity in the perpetually guarded Sebastian Smythe. He kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling, knowing his eyes were threatening a few tears. She couldn't help but feel a mix of shock and sympathy for him, shock because he came off as a much too privileged, uncalled for asshole, and sympathy because she had a feeling that everyone else had made the quick assumptions she did. "I'm sorry," she managed to say after another moment of silence.

He let out an unexpected, hollow laugh. "When you're on top of the world, things like these aren't supposed to happen. But, as it turns out, the best doctors in the world couldn't get her to wake up from her coma," he went on, as if talking to both her and himself. He didn't entirely know why he was spilling out the mist intimate secrets to her at the time, blaming the alcohol for his lack of a verbal filter. "And it's crazy, you know? When your own father gives up and moves on before you do. Like people are just waiting on you to be done grieving already."

Appearing to now be a common occurrence, Santana once again had no idea what to say. Another silence fell upon them, and she waited for him to go on but the wait was to no avail. "Tell me about her?" she asked, now turning her whole body in his direction, waiting for a story. His gaze lingered on her for a few seconds, before looking back up at the ceiling.

"Her name was Estelle Deschamps, she was an architect in Paris. Her father, Guillaume my grandpa, was a politician and my grandma, Lucille, used to perform for the Parisian ballet. My dad had been a law school student with an internship in Paris and though he and my grandpa shared the same political interest, Guillaume was unimpressed. But despite his wishes, my mom ended up in Westerville and they had me before she couldn't have anymore children. I grew up here, private school and we vacationed at the Riviera every summer. She always remembered to drive me to rehearsals, never missed a game or a recital, cared enough but didn't care too much like my father did. I never really understood how anyone could dislike their own mother, I didn't know she was something else." A corner of his mouth turned upwards into a half-smile, and Santana couldn't help but smile herself. Sebastian's description made her feel like she knew the woman, or at least wanted to know the seemingly amazing character that he had described. Her thoughts were interrupted by Sebastian's head turning in her direction. "So you know all about me now, Lopez, isn't it your turn?"

She paused for a moment, before deciding to leave Sebastian an outsider of her own world. "Maybe next time," she smirked. "Goodnight, twink." Once again, she turned to the opposite side of the bed, and he did the same.

Sebastian, not feeling his own curiosity worth more than his sleep at the moment, simply replied, "Goodnight, Satan."

He finally fell asleep, as if exhausted from finally letting someone into his guarded perspectives.

* * *

><p>The sunlight had replaced the darkness the next morning, and illuminated the room as Santana Lopez woke up to a side of her face on a smooth surface. The surface happened to be the bare chest of Sebastian, and Santana's eyes immediately widened when she realized the position she had unconsciously put herself in. The chest that her head lay on was moving in sync with his deep breathing. She found her right arm across his stomach, and his was around her own back.<p>

To say the least, Santana was freaked out. She had never been one to cuddle in her sleep, not even with Brittany, yet there she was-clearly the offender in the situation, since Sebastian was merely sprawled out.

Before she had time to figure out her plan of action, she felt a vibrating in the pocket of her jeans. Recognizing the familiar sensation of her phone, she took it out and pressed the Answer button, limiting her movements as she attempted not to disturb Sebastian's slumber.

"Hello?" she whispered into the phone.

"San?" her girlfriend's voice inquired from the other end of the line.

"Hey Brit, what's up?" Santana managed to say in a quiet voice.

"Where'd you go? And why are you whispering?" Brittany asked, confused.

She quickly pondered how to answer the question. Obviously, telling her that she had slept in Sebastian's bed for the night would result in a need for an explanation, so she discarded the idea. "Umm, well my dad picked me up this morning on his way to work," she lied. "He needed me to help with paperwork at the clinic." She mentally kicked herself for the worst excuse in the world, but kept her cool on the phone.

The blonde, however, bought the answer and told the rest of the group in the background, "See guys, I told you she left!" While faint agreements were heard in the background, Brittany returned to the conversation. "Okay, well, everyone just woke up so we're just getting ready to head back to Lima. Call me when you're home, I love you!"

"Love you too, Brit!" she replied, smiling, before hanging up the phone.

She turned to her current problems on how exactly she was going to get home, as she watched the warbler wake up from his slumber.

"Ashamed to be associated with me, Lopez?" he said groggily and yawned.

"Just how long exactly have you been awake?" she snapped, immediately getting down to her no nonsense attitude.

"Off and on. I woke up earlier but couldn't go back to sleep thanks to your snoring," he answered as the both of them sat up. In her fiesty manner, she quickly buried a fist into his chest at the comment. "Ow, god, someone needed to be honest with you. Hasn't your girlfriend ever told you?"

"I can't believe I survived a whole night in your damn presence, Smythe," she spat back.

He let out a snicker. "Apparently you wanted more than just my presence, judging from our state this morning," he answered back, which led to another punch from Santana. This one was, however, harder.

"Screw you, Sebastian," she said, rolling her eyes.

"You know, I don't know about you, but I wouldn't be mean to the person I'm depending on to drive me for two hours all the way home," Sebastian smirked.

"Who says you get the privilege?" she questioned him, raising her eyebrow.

He shrugged, and put his arms behind his head to lean back on the headboard. "Fine, good luck getting any of the hung over guys to do you the favor," he simply answered, then pulled his covers back on to express his own interest in going back to sleep.

Santana groaned before pulling the comforter off him. "Come on twink, let's go," she said, yanking his arm to get up. He chuckled awe decided to actually be nice, not protesting and hopping off the bed. He found a pair of chinos on the floor, not questioning if they were clean, and reached inside his dresser drawer, pulling out a maroon polo. Santana watched him get dressed, not caring to look away and give the boy any privacy. "Always the prep school look."

"Only clothes I have," he muttered, and grabbed his keys from his desk. They walked out of the room, but not before Sebastian peeked in the hallway to see if anyone was present. The corridors were silent, and Sebastian assumed that everyone was still asleep. Quitely, they descended the grand staircase and exited the building, walking towards Sebastian's Porsche.

Santana let out a low whistle as he opened the car door and gestured for her to enter. "Guessing you didn't buy this one for the fuel economy and cargo space."

"Never said I wasn't ostentatious," Sebastian grinned and hopped in. The engine was revved to life as they exited the Dalton premises, and silenced filled the car for a short while before Sebastian decided to ask a question that had been plaguing his mind the whole day. "So, how much of last night do you remember, exactly?"

Santana paused, before thinking back to their deep conversation in half-slumber. She had never been one to black out and not remember, but her nagging insecurities told her to pretendblast night never happened. And the insecurities won. "Uh... not much. After I got in bed, I was gone. Why, did I do anything in my sleep?"

Sebastian's heart sunk, realizing his emotional breakthrough had been wiped out in her memory. He hadn't told anyone the things he told her the previous night, and she didn't even remember. "Oh..." he replied, and they fell silent again.

She realized that the route he was taking didn't go to the highway, and raised an eyebrow. "Where are you taking me?" she demanded.

"I just need to go pick up a few things at home before I head to Lima," he explained as they drove through a ridiculously nice neighborhood.

"Do I get to see the royal mansion of the Smythe family?" she teased him. His expression, however, was a little more serious than normal and Santana couldn't help but wonder why.

"Actually, I'd prefer it if you stayed in the vehicle..." he trailed off, as he reached the black gates of the Smythe estate.

* * *

><p><strong>This chapter ended poorly, I'm sorry, but I needed to milk my muse to its last drops for now. <strong>

**Thank you for the many kind words, your feedback is always appreciated! Next chapter will be up before you know it (:**


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